Inferno
by niki-nikster
Summary: Ezio is entrusted the task of rescuing assassins imprisoned by the Spanish Inquisition. Shaun Hastings grapples with his feelings for Lucy, little knowing of her dual loyalties. Desmond and Rebecca soldier on, unaware that the Templars are closing in...
1. Chapter 1

Warren Vidic had expected the email to come sooner than it did.

From: Alan Rikkin.  
To: Warren Vidic.  
Sept 10, 2012,  
9:45 PM.  
Subject: Recent events.

_Warren:_

_With some deliberate manipulation, it does not take much for a researcher and our subject to breach the security of Abstergo Industries. The minimum and incompetent security force that attempted to detain them has been suitably incapacitated. It would take a fool to believe that the amateurish escape was in effort a valiant one. I hope you know what you are doing, Vidic. It is unwise to lay all your eggs in one basket._

_Alan._

Vidic smiled and typed out a reply.

_i know what i am doing. she will take care of this._

Message sent: 9:50 PM.

Vidic knitted his hands behind his head and leaned back into his swivel chair. There was one innate difference between them and the assassins. The Templars knew better. Always. Very soon, the Assassin Order would not stand a chance…

* * *

Spain 1491.

The cobbled roads looked beautiful at night. The lamps on street corners flickered, illuminating the Gothic structures around. Those and the gathered silhouettes in an open ground stood tall as mute witnesses. Completely still. All was quiet, but for the rustling of wind. It was muted too, afraid to disturb the quiescence which was torn asunder by a shriek.

The terrified man was suspended from a tree branch by his arms which tied behind his back. It was a form of Inquisition torture – the _garrucha_. His gleeful tormentor, of burly build and rotten teeth tugged at the rope to let his prey bounce wildly in the air. The man's shoulder joints burned fiercely, just another violent jerk away from dislocation. The crowd watched, some in shock, others in resignation, not moving to rescue an innocent man from a gruesome plight.

None, save for a spinning knife.

The rope was sliced apart and the man fell to the ground with a thud. Before the executioner could turn, Ezio Auditore was upon him, and the hidden blade through his heart. The assassin laid him to rest, avoiding the spurting and pooling of blood as he approached the civilian.

"Go, my good man," he whispered to him, "tell them of Ezio Auditore's arrival."

The blade cut through his ropes and the man escaped past the guards who came charging for Ezio. The silent streets were alit with a blazing inferno of torches, soldiers and fiery arrows. Ezio dodged the clanging swords and armors, scaling the nearest turret that his nimble fingers could latch on to. A trail of arrows missed him by inches in his ascent, either embedding themselves into the stone or falling off.

He heaved himself up the turret and in the line of vision of two archers. They alerted the other soldiers. Ezio acknowledged the futility of escape and drew out his sword. He was always dressed for occasion. Ezio deflected one strike, broke through another. Bodies were slashed, necks slit open. It was a garbled, mindless carnage, with the scales no longer tipping in his favor.

The guards countered the assassin in skill and number. His armor had sustained enough blows. But with a final flash of strength, he swung his arm, taking on three soldiers with his hidden blade while deflecting the rest with his sword. It was a desperate move, one that would have proved fatal had the guards behind him successfully plunged their swords in.

They were thwarted by a few well-aimed throwing knives. Ezio felled the last of the guards as he turned to see his beckoning savior.

"It would do you good to watch your back on occasion, _assassino_," said the cloaked figure.

Ezio flung a knife towards the figure, which whistled past its hood into an oncoming guard.

"So would you yours, _ragazzo_ (little boy)."

The frail shadow grunted and broke into an impressive free-run. Ezio, quite easily kept up. The savior was armed with a small sword with which it swung away at the zipping arrows. "Here!" said the silhouette and ran to the edge of the citadel wall. The arrows rained on them from the adjoining rooftops as they raced along.

A few of them knocked the shadow out of its running path. The person tripped and fell sideways, holding on to the edge for dear life. More daggers were flung by Ezio, till the barrage of arrows was momentarily discontinued.

In the clean for now, he stooped with an outstretched hand to help his ally. He gasped. The hood had fallen backwards, revealing a fair countenance, with raven-like hair and razor-sharp eyes. He held the woman's hand to pull her up, but she resisted.

"We jump from here," she said and fixed her feet firmly into the cool, grey wall. Then, with a slight tug, she let go of his hand and fell backwards. It was a leap of faith and how! Her face was calm as she executed the freefall, tumbling once in the air, before landing in a pile of hay.

_Convenient_, grinned Ezio as he leaped spread-eagled into the golden heap. The woman jumped out first and whistled. A white horse came galloping. She effortlessly mounted it and gestured for Ezio to do the same.

"You thought to bring only one?" he asked.

The woman offered no repartee to his remark. Still, Ezio was curious to know more.

"You are trained in the ways of the assassin," he observed. "What is your name, stranger?"

"I possess their techniques, _assassino_, but not their temperance. I have no patience for the Order and its duties."

"What compelled you come to my aid?"

"I saw a stranger in need and offered my help. I find it unfair to witness a man disadvantaged by circumstance."

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, peering into the shrouded darkness.

"Where I know you are awaited," said she.

They approached the home of Raphael Sánchez – nobleman, treasurer, and assassin. The woman had used an effective detour to bring Ezio into the colony, undetected.

"I still do not know your name," said Ezio as he alighted from the horse.

"Discretion is the utmost tenet of your Order. Perhaps we ought to maintain that, Auditore."

"You use my name. How do you know it?"

"I keep my ear to the ground, _assassino_. May Providence guide you in your endeavors."

"As would He in yours," said Ezio.

The woman gave him a quick, two-fingered salute before rearing the horse and riding into the smoky mists. Ezio knocked on the door and entered when it opened.

* * *

"That's enough," said Lucy, looking away from the monitor.

"Should I stop?" asked Rebecca, seeking confirmation.

"Yes."

"Okay, then. Desmond, we are logging you out of the Animus."

"Isn't it too soon?" protested Shaun. "This was just getting somewhere."

"We will keep it for next time," said Lucy, "Desmond needs to take breaks."

"Next time?" Shaun sneered, "There is _no_ time, Lucy! Forget 'next'! Our fraternal tenderness _will _get us killed!"

"Maybe," she said, "but I am not taking my chances… after Subject 16."

"Everything okay?" asked Desmond as he slowly sat up.

"It's all good," said Rebecca.

Shaun shook his head and walked back to his table. He threw his notepad down noisily, to make a point.

"What's with him?" asked Desmond, motioning to Shaun as he got out of the Animus.

"Nothing serious," said Rebecca.

Lucy wanted to make a point of her own. "Shaun doesn't like people." It was deliberately said aloud.

Shaun's ears flushed when he heard that. It was almost true; he wanted to say, not completely. He liked _some _people, in varying degrees. Lucy Stillman was placed just a little higher in his list of priorities and affections. Still, he ignored the comment and listlessly sifted through his accumulated database.

Shaun felt a pair of eyes burn into his skull, but Lucy glanced away by the time he turned around. Rebecca and Desmond had left the room. When Lucy turned to look at him again, her face was burning red. Flustered when their eyes met, she walked away. Shaun Hastings smiled with the shy, quiet satisfaction that she remembered their little 'accident' from last night.

It had been a casual conversation which went in the direction he had never imagined… but rather enjoyed. A mid-night chat about the life in New York City, the normality of their own which was long gone, now took a wistful turn.

"It's so strange…" he had sighed.

"I know," she had said, her head resting on the sofa.

She had looked sad, troubled even. Shaun had put a hand on her knee.

"It'll be fine," he had said in a rare moment of empathy.

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure."

She had shaken her head and risen from the sofa. "Do you want a refill on your coffee?"

He had still been looking at her.

"Shaun?"

He had stood up and walked slowly towards her. Brought his arms around her waist. He had brushed his lips against hers in fair warning before kissing her. His mouth had been firmly on hers, his ardor fired by her passionate reciprocation and his prior abstinence. It started out as a series of quick, sweet kisses. Just the sort Lucy did not expect Shaun to be capable of giving. But then his searing mouth captured hers in an urgent frenzy, his tongue gliding and sweeping inside her. She tasted marvelous, exquisite and he wanted so much more from her. A moan caught somewhere in the back of her throat and his as their lips crushed against each other in a delicious, intoxicating tussle for domination.

Shaun Hastings had almost forgotten what it was like to touch a woman. Unfortunately, Lucy Stillman had pulled away before he could completely recollect. He definitely did not remember a woman walking faster away from him. Especially with a look as if she had let a reptile shove a tongue down her throat.

_There goes normality…_

To his relief, she was fine the next morning. As if the previous night had not mattered. That little thought niggled at him slightly, but he brushed it aside.

"Hey Shaun, you coming?" Rebecca called out from the door.

"Yeah."

He let her walk on ahead. She sat next to Lucy and Shaun plunked himself beside her. He would use either Rebecca or Desmond (preferably Rebecca) as an ideal buffer zone before things began to… settle… with Lucy.

He was not particularly a patient person, but with Lucy he was willing to wait it out. Shaun Hastings crossed his fingers, hoping there would be time for that.

* * *

**Author's note: **Hi, all! :D This is my first Assassin's Creed fanfic on . I have been playing Assassin's Creed II and got so involved in the plotline that I just _had to _write a fic on this, never mind if I hadn't played the rest of the games. But I'll definitely stalk the Wikia page and scenes on YouTube to get a better understanding. Also, I would love your feedback on this, so that I may be able to continue. I have a rough idea where I would want to go but this was a shot in the dark. If there is positive feedback, I will definitely work at making a more cohesive, complex plot.

This chapter was written in two hours. Much love to Sarah for her feedback and Lydia for her constant encouragement in my fanfic endeavors.

Sorry for the sucky summary. If only they allowed more characters! That way I could've mentioned that this is an AU. So expect things to take a bit of a diversion from the games's main plot.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy and Desmond were walking around the Hideout. Shaun watched them from above, nostrils flared and elbows resting on the banister. He could not hear their banter, though the peaks and troughs in their pitch were open to interpretation. It did not stop him from throwing his two bits into the conversation. Lucy was walking on ahead and something Desmond said made her turn around and smile at him.

"Lucy, I like your ass," he grunted, in a terrible Desmond impression.

She turned and said something. "Ooh, thank you, Desmond, I like it too," said Shaun in perfect synch with her moving lips. However, it was uttered with an awful, unrealistic pitch.

Desmond leaned closer to her, whispering something before overtaking. "Why don't you check out mine?" Shaun said gruffly, unable to mask the British accent. Lucy was walking slowly behind Desmond, mute and in deep thought. She seemed oblivious and inattentive to his ramblings as he walked on ahead.

"Look at me, Lucy," Shaun spat, "look at my lovely tight ass and my _awesome _bartender walk. Look how cool and alpha-male I am- "

"Gee wheez, take it easy James Bond!"

Rebecca was standing behind him. Shaun pushed away from the banister to face her. "James Bond? Why James Bond? Is it my devastating good looks? Is it the gadgets? Oh no, wait a minute!" He pulled at his sweater. "It must be the tux!"

"Whoa, who crapped in your cornflakes, man? I was talking about your accent," she said. Shaun rolled his eyes. Rebecca Crane did not seem to understand his brand of sarcasm. "Here," she said and tossed him a beer can. Shaun caught it with a deft hand. He popped it open and leaned against the banister, his back to Rebecca again. She came and stood next to him, drumming her fingers on the support.

"So…" she smirked, "I guess you were trying your hand at ventriloquism?"

"Oh, absolutely," he said, "it's a lovely little closeted hobby of mine! In fact, when this is all over, I'm going to do shows. You could be the dummy on my lap. Would you like that? We could be the next big bloody, bloody thing after Abott and Costello!"

Rebecca happened to find that funny. "God, your eyes are bulging out against your glasses. And you're all red!" She was holding on to the banister and laughing into her hands. Shaun ignored her and continued to look ahead absently. As if she was never there. Somehow, she managed to restrain herself enough to say – "But I also know about other 'closeted things'."

Shaun took a sip of his beer. "Not liking where this conversation is going, Becca."

Rebecca looked down to see Lucy and Desmond disappear at a turn. "You don't like to see them together, do you?" she asked. Shaun looked at her. Rebecca was still looking at that corner. "Feels weird, huh?"

He looked down but did not answer. Instead, he took another sip from his can. A smaller sip. And he ignored the slight burning tinge that flowed down his throat. It had to be the beer. Rebecca was still talking, her voice soft and understanding.

"I see the way you look at him."

_Him? HIM?_

Shaun convulsed. And this time his eyes did bulge out. Dangerously. "Him?" he rasped, gagging on his beer.

"Yeah. Desmond."

"You think I – Desmond - ?" He began coughing.

"And your face is getting all red," she said.

Shaun gestured, desperate to convince her that the flush was from thinly concealed irritation. One that was going to flare into unbridled rage. He gave a final cough before firmly emphasizing – "I. Am. Straight!"

"Yeah, sure. And I like girls."

"Don't you?"

"Hell, no!"

"Then why the devil do I get to be the gay one out?"

"You might not be. All you gotta do is ask him."

"Rebecca."

"And you can totally come to me for advice. I'm with you."

"Rebecca. Stop."

"We're allies. Doesn't that make us sound like crime-fighting partners?"

"Rebecca."

Shaun raised a hand to silence her.

"My can."

He pointed to it.

"Your head."

He pointed at her.

"What are the odds of a collision?"

She stared at him.

"Back away," he said, "slowly."

To his utter annoyance, she gave him a crooked smile and took a step back. "Hey guys!" she boomed into the deserted warehouse. "Let's wrap up a final session before we crash, 'kay?"

"Coming!" they heard Lucy say from somewhere before she appeared with Desmond at the bottom of the stairs. Rebecca squeezed his shoulder before leaving. Shaun glared at Desmond, who reacted with a raised eyebrow. Lucy followed behind him, giving Shaun an indecisive half-smile as she walked past. Shaun emptied the last of the beer before crushing it in his hand. It fell with a 'thunk' into the garbage crate. The can reminded Shaun of his own crumpled insides.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid… _he cursed, wondering how and why he let one woman supersede a greater cause. He steeled himself from within, though an inner voice said his resolve would not last for long. But as he took his position in the room, Shaun Hastings was in his element. Cold, indifferent and an over-informed genius.

"Are you ready, Desmond?" Lucy asked, behind him.

"Yeah," he said and that was all they needed.

* * *

The maid-servant, a plump, busty woman, led Ezio into the study. It was a brown room, of varying shades, which flickered in the candle light. Renaissance paintings adorned the walls as did the rare books on the shelves.

"Ezio Auditore!" greeted the man and held out his hand. He led him to a chair. "You have come a long way, my friend."

"And taken longer still to reach, I suppose."

Ezio pulled himself a chair. Raphael Sánchez sat opposite him, across the table. "Your cloak is a little torn. And askew," he observed.

"The guards and I had a little disagreement."

"What about?"

"An executioner was tormenting a heretic. I could not stand by and watch."

"Dare I ask what you did next?"

"I took care of the man. The guards seemed eager to return the favor."

"There seemed to be too many of them," said Raphael, his eyes running over the damaged armor.

"There were," Ezio admitted.

"It seemed as if they used a citizen as bait to lure you out."

"He was a member of the Spanish Thieves Guild. The emblem was branded upon his shoulder."

Raphael rose from his seat and paced the floor. "You must refrain from grand entrances henceforth, Ezio. Keep to the vow of discretion, it will be of use."

"When have I not?"

"The deed which has been entrusted to us is a delicate one. Tomás de Torquemada has been giving our Order much difficulty."

"He is the Inquisitor General, is he not?"

"Indeed, he is. A dog as well, most faithful to the Templar cause."

Ezio nodded and stretched discreetly as the Spanish nobleman continued. He winced at the sharp pain, realizing only then how much more severe the damage would have been had the woman not rescued him. It was a detail he had omitted in his narration. If she valued her anonymity, Ezio would not snatch it away from her.

"Torquemada," continued Raphael, "works in close counsel with Rodrigo Borgia."

It perked Ezio's interest. "He works for the Spaniard?"

"Si, Ezio. He has given Torquemada a list of names. All of them Spanish assassins. They are to be executed as heretics."

"I will find them," said Ezio, determined and ready.

"We will do so together," said Raphael. "Come now, Ezio. Your journey has been long."

Ezio followed Raphael to the dining hall. "You do know how to treat your guests, Raphael," he smiled.

The wooden table was alit by candles, heightening the sense of visual. The collective aromas wafted through the air, overpowering the nostrils with the tangy scent of spices and herbs. The table was generously stacked with wine and exotic dishes Ezio had never seen. Raphael had gone much beyond his way to be hospitable. Even if he had greatly over-estimated the assassin's appetite.

"Consider yourself at home, Ezio." Raphael took a seat.

"I see nothing amiss that should make me think otherwise," said Ezio. "You seem to know my preferences better than I do, Raphael."

"Ah," said the nobleman with twinkling eyes, "I know a great deal more."

"Like what?" asked Ezio in subtle challenge.

"I know of your boyhood years, your allies and your relations. Even of the deeply clandestine ones."

Ezio's hand froze when he heard that. His eyes rose slowly from the plate into Raphael's.

"I meant the lovely Cristina Vespucci, of course," said the man before him, mistaking his numbness for curiosity.

Ezio dropped his knife back into the plate. He got up slowly from the table. "I think I would like to dress for supper."

Even as he left the room, Raphael noticed the bitterness behind the courtesy and realized that he had overstepped a line.

* * *

They packed away for the night. Desmond lumbered back into his room, shutting the door behind him. Shaun retreated into his with a laptop.

"Coming, Luce?" asked Rebecca as she entered the room they shared.

"In a moment," said Lucy.

She waited for the warehouse to still, the shadows to lengthen. And then, Lucy stretched and walked to an open window in the room. She looked out of it, welcoming the cool night breeze as it rolled along her face, through her hair. Life seemed simpler in those moments. It ceased to be a web of deceit, a game of snakes and ladders. Life, for her, then became an instant frozen in time.

It was in the air she breathed, in the bustling streets of Italy and in everything from the ground below to the skies above. She valued these moments greatly now, with the wistfulness of a condemned man. Through the path she had chosen of her own free will, Lucy Stillman knew these little instances were numbered. She only hoped that her fellow Assassins would not suffer greatly for it.

They were meant to be just colleagues, but human nature and looming danger endeared them to her. Much more than she had wanted. Especially when it came to a certain bespectacled historian and their own… clandestine exchange from the night before.

_Where did that even come from?_

They had just been talking. He was being nice, _actually _being nice, being sympathetic. Being a friend. And then he had moved in. Lucy had been stunned, not so much by the gesture, as by her reaction to it. She accorded it to purely physical reasons, since neither she nor Shaun really gave away an inkling of affection for each other. Thinking about it only made her tingle inside so she decided against it.

Lucy walked back into her room, and found Rebecca curled like a fetus on the bed. And then she heard sniveling.

"Becca?"

She heard more muffled sounds coming through her pillow. Lucy got down to her knees on the mattress and shook her by the shoulder. "Becca. Hey…"

"Lucy… ?" croaked Rebecca, in the darkness.

"What's wrong?" she asked the dark-haired girl.

"It's nothing…"

"Becca."

Lucy curled up behind her and squeezed her shoulder. "You can tell me, you know that, right?"

She could hear Rebecca sigh with a tremor. "I just miss home."

"I know…" said Lucy and stroked her own, "I miss it too. So very much."

"There doesn't seem a point in things sometimes, you know? Like, why bother?"

Her voice was thick. Lucy could feel her tears. She wiped them off Rebecca's face.

"Because it's war, Rebecca. Everything is permitted."

Rebecca wiped her tears on her t-shirt. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't even be listening to this."

"I want to. Talk to me."

"I'll be fine, Lucy. I'm just being silly."

"You're not being silly at all, Becca. It's not silly to miss the life you've had. The wonderful memories you created."

Rebecca did not answer. Lucy continued. "You've got to be strong, Becca. And when you think back to the time you spent with your family, I want you to be happy. Take your happiest memory, hold onto it and never, _never_, let go."

"Thanks," said Rebecca. Lucy's eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw her smile. "Anytime, hon," she said to Rebecca.

"I… I guess you're the only one I can talk to. I don't know Desmond that well and Shaun's an idiot."

Lucy laughed. "He is, isn't he?"

"And I think he likes Desmond."

Lucy stopped laughing only to resume with a greater force. "Where - how - ?" she managed between spurts.

"Should've seen the way he was watching you two today. In-tense."

Lucy gave the visual a thought and chuckled. Rebecca joined in. "I think trashing Shaun's the best way to go when you're sad," said Lucy.

"Maybe it is," smiled Rebecca.

"Want me to get you some water now? Wash down all the angst?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

Lucy swung herself out of bed and into the corridor. The sudden stream of light from the kitchen momentarily blinded her. She let her eyes adjust yet again before entering. "Hey," she said to Shaun, who snapped his head up at the acknowledgment.

"Hey," he said back.

"You're up late."

"Just making myself some tea." He paused, watching it bubble. "Want some?" he asked as an afterthought.

"No, thanks. I was just here to get Rebecca a bottle of water."

"Is she alright?"

"Just a little homesick."

He nodded in understanding and did not ask any further questions. Lucy appreciated his discretion. She reached across the counter for the bottle just as Shaun's arm went perpendicular for the small can of milk. Somewhere in that unfortunate, careless moment, there was definite grazing… and groping. They froze for that cold awkward second, before Shaun gasped and jumped backwards. Right into the wall.

"I – I – I was just going for the milk, I swear!"

He pressed himself against the wall. Lucy looked down to her left breast, the recipient of the accidental caress. "Well Shaun, it's early days yet."

Her attempt at humor was lost on him. Completely.

"I didn't mean to, I am so, so sorry," he spluttered.

"Shaun…"

Lucy stepped a little closer to him.

"Shaun, it's okay."

She gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Sorry…" he still said, his mind groping, no, struggling, for a better word.

Lucy sighed and put the bottle she was holding back on the counter.

"Shaun, I want to say something."

She became grave and Shaun loosened up slightly, her seriousness stirring his. He sensed nervousness from her end. "It's about last night."

Shaun felt nervous too now. Lucy took a deep breath. "I don't want it to spoil what's between us."

Shaun just blinked. Lucy knitted her hands together, leaning forward as she considered her next words. "Shaun, I have to say this. I've known people, a lot of men over the years. But it always felt weird… like an undercurrent." She stilled and looked into his eyes.

"I trust you," she said and meant it. "Let's please not have last night get in the way."

_Get in the way._

It hurt when he heard that. So it never meant a thing. It was just a mere inconvenience, a small hitch. Which meant he was just a 'friend.'

_Just a friend_.

He hated the phrase, hated the word. Lucy gave him a nervous smile. "So… can we be normal again?"

Shaun forced himself to smile back. "Sure."

Lucy stepped forward, hesitating before putting an arm around him for a friendly hug.

_Friendly hug_.

Shaun was beginning to hate it too. He brought an arm awkwardly around her, damning her light gold hair for being so soft against his cheek. She pulled away. "Good night, Shaun."

"Yeah. Good night," he said to her and she left with the bottle.

Shaun stared at the doorway before turning to the stove. The tea had spilled over. He ran a hand across his small spikes, and then tugged at them in frustration. He hated a mess. Especially the man-made ones. Cursing, he grabbed a mop from behind the kitchen door.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid… _he muttered and got down to work.

* * *

**Author's note: **I will try and make the future chapters more interesting. Still hope you like this one. R&R, yes? :D


	3. Chapter 3

The woman sat at the edge of the tower, watching all of Barcelona from above. Streets were dotted with small fires and not all of them were emanating from the lamps. There had been witch-hunts just a few hours ago. One person would stand no chance against countless soldiers and executioners. Not unless one was a particularly gifted assassin. And even those needed situational assistance. Her hood fluttered as the wind wafted across the city.

She slipped it off her head. The odds of finding company at this height were negligible. Almost.

"That's my spot."

The woman closed her eyes before opening them again and sighed. She knew the voice. And the person.

"Rosa."

"Helene Dufranc."

The thief perched herself on the edge of the rooftop next to her. Two silhouettes crouched alongside. One a rogue, the other a member of the Venetian Thieves Guild.

"I see too many Italians tonight for my own good," said Helene.

"And you are possibly the only Frenchwoman I know in all of Spain," said Rosa.

They watched the deserted lanes below. Small alleyways scurrying to meet the others. Barcelona stretched out in a map of buildings, slanting tiled red roofs and soft candlelight gleaming from the grilled windows.

"How did you find me?" asked Helene.

"I had knowledge of your whereabouts," said Rosa, "and your love for towering landmarks."

"When did you arrive?"

"This evening with Antonio. There is work to be done." She looked at Helene. "You could be of use to us."

Helene shook her head. "I am not a hired blade."

Antonio de Magianis, leader of the Venetian Thieves Guild, had tried to prevail upon her to join their cause. He had been incredibly persuasive in some of his methods. But Helene had not been one to yield.

"Five years later and we still cannot come upon an agreement," smiled Rosa.

"Not after I realized that the hospitality in Venice had an ulterior motive."

"Does not everything?"

Helene did not answer. Rosa persisted. "We have the same goal, Helene. Do you not see? Liberty of the oppressed."

"The only liberty I concern myself with is of my own. If I had needed a cause, would I have strayed from the Assassin Order?"

"Look there," pointed Rosa to a street below, "and tell me what you see."

"I see a bonfire," said Helene after a cursory glance.

"It is the stake upon which the Inquisitors burn the heretics. Some of them may be our Assassin brothers."

"I belong to no brotherhood. I never have."

"The liberty you so cherish is being wrenched away from the people as we speak. What has made you so bitter, Helene, that you would not answer to a higher calling?"

"I do my own bidding," said Helene. "There is no greater calling."

Rosa looked resigned.

"Do not lose heart, ma amie," said Helene. "We have met after a long time. Surely there are better things to speak of."

"I suppose there are…"

"Follow me, then, to my tavern. The last person to descend the tower shall provide the food and drinks."

"Agreed!" said Rosa and dropped down to a ledge below. Helene laughed as Rosa latched onto the marble protrusions on the wall. "Why do you laugh?" asked Rosa, but did not wait for an answer. Helene stood on her toes. The pile of hay below suited her purpose. She spread her arms in a grand gesture and tilted her body forward.

The wind hit her face as she plummeted through the air, eyes watering and cloak flapping in the breeze. "That is unfair!" Rosa cried out to the freefalling rogue. Helene Dufranc was not listening. Her face was calm and peaceful as her body gracefully pirouetted in the air before the soft landing.

* * *

"I apologize for my indiscretion, Ezio," said Raphael when the assassin rejoined him for supper.

"And what would that be?" smiled Ezio as he settled down.

So he did not want any further mention of the woman. Cristina Vespucci must have meant a great deal to him. The assassin perhaps did have hidden depths.

"I refrain to speak of grave matters when dining, but with time being scarce on our side, I am wont to make an exception."

"You may do so, friend," said Ezio. "I follow no particular ordinance for supper."

"Good," said Raphael and leaned closer. "Now listen carefully. Our Assassin brethren are condemned to fall to Gaspar Martinez's blade. He oversees the executions in Barcelona."

"He shall be taken care of."

"Do not be so sure, Ezio. He is an important man. One who answers solely to Torquemada's dictates. You will have to pass through many to get to him."

"I have done so before, Raphael. I shall do so again."

"No doubt, Ezio. That is why the Brotherhood called upon you."

"You are of great service too, Raphael. It is difficult for an Assassin to make it to a position of immense power. Especially that of a royal Advisor."

"My position at times seems of futile authority, Ezio. If I have one ear of Queen Isabella, the Templars have her by the other."

Ezio shook his head. The Templars wormed their way into everything. "When you are ready, Ezio," said Raphael, "I would like to acquaint you with our key alleys and hideouts."

"Va bene," said Ezio. Italian was a force of habit. "Very good," he smiled to the bewildered nobleman.

* * *

They logged out with Desmond blinking the spots from his eyes and Shaun grumbling about the lack of progress. "Look who volunteered for supply duty," said Lucy, without looking up from her notepad.

"Pleasure's all mine," he muttered. It was quite a drag to scour for a week's worth of supply. A little outdoors, however, could do him some good. Shaun had never heard of cases of death by fresh air.

Hands in pocket, he hummed a slow tune as the rickety elevator droned to a jerky halt. Shaun walked out, into the streets. Nonchalant, as if he was there all along. Clean-cut guy, just walking, doing _nothing _suspicious. The sun was bright, the winds were cool.

And he was being followed by two men.

_Abstergo._

Seriously, did they think he would not notice? Shaun quickened his pace. His alertness grew in his paranoia. The Templars were blending in with the crowd. And closing him away from it. Old strategy. That is how they got to him last time. Shaun walked faster now, shoulder-butting his way through people. The shopping list crumpled in his sweat-drenched hands before disintegrating.

The corner of his eye caught a man looking above a newspaper. Another was _supposedly _taking pictures of the city. Yet another cycled past, speaking into a Bluetooth. Assholes had him cornered. The two men were still following him. Two more joined the hunt. Sideways, but keeping their distance.

_Oh God…_

He made a powerful, conscious decision not to run. All hell would break loose then. Shaun kept to his right, his shoulder almost grazing the wall. His hand gripped the knob of a door and he made a blind dash down a flight of stairs. Right into a dimly lit basement. It contracted into a narrow long-winding corridor. Shaun already knew as he ran into it, that he was heading for disaster.

He was stuck underground in naturally sound-proofed environment and in a never-ending corridor. Without a weapon. The footsteps grew louder behind him. They were on top of the stairs. The corridor was a dead-end. It opened into a dormant laundry room with four washer-dryers, a vending machine and a glass window near the ceiling.

Shaun Hastings was trapped.

The only way out was no longer an option. He faced the opening into the laundry room and walked backwards, waiting for the footsteps to come closer. Today was the day. He would either be maimed or dead. Or both.

That was when his eyes rested on the vending machine. And he had an idea…

* * *

"Alright Desmond. Break's over, training begins."

"Aye aye," he grinned, following Lucy down the ramp and into the open space of the hideout.

"What're we doing today?"

"Fight training. We'll get to see what you learnt inside the Animus. And if you're stuck in an… adversative situation, you'll do a better job of fending off the opponents."

"Unlike the escape from Abstergo?"

"You were good!" said Lucy and turned around. "Desmond, you really held your own. But now, you'll get to be better."

She gestured with her hands in beckoning provocation. "Hit me."

Desmond's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard her," said Rebecca. She was standing on the ramp, leaning against the banister.

"Hit me," Lucy repeated.

"Humor her, Desmond."

Desmond swallowed hard and sent a weak imitation of a punch her way. Lucy dodged it.

"Really, Desmond?"

"I-I can't hit you. You're- "

"A woman? Desmond, you've got to forget gender when you're under threat. The only choices before you will be of right and wrong. Living. And dying. Brace up!"

* * *

_Not dying. Not like this._

Shaun had pulled off his sweater while moving over to the vending machine. His shaking fingers desperately grasped for quarters. He barely kept his hand steady as he popped them in, in quick succession.

_Please… just work._

He spread his sweater under the opening duct, letting the cans tumble into it. The men, five of them now, entered the room. They were amused to find him crouched before the vending machine.

Cowering, they assumed.

Shaun waited, afraid to exhale. His instincts and their footsteps suggested that they were near enough. Shaun knotted his sweater around the cans.

_Come and get me, fuckers._

One of the men approached from behind. He got the worst of it. Shaun had swung his arm as he leapt to his feet. The impact knocked the would-be assailant off his own.

Shaun launched his attack on the next Templar, felling him with a hit to his face. It was then that they discovered his little improvisation. It left a nasty pain on contact. The bastard could well have been pounding them with a rock-laden sack.

* * *

Lucy easily deflected his punches. "See how this goes?" she asked.

"These are textbook assassin moves, Desmond," said Rebecca. "Memorize."

"Don't memorize," Lucy corrected. "Imbibe."

Desmond's arm suddenly sprang up, cushioning Lucy's fist from his face. "Nice!" said Lucy. "Your instinct felt it before your eyes saw it. It's happening because of the Bleeding Effect."

* * *

Shaun's nose was bleeding. He could also taste its metallic tinge in the inside of his jaw. The suckers had managed to sneak a few blows in. Unfortunately, this situation was a little out of his job profile. Shaun swung his arm around, taking down as many attackers as he could, before dropping the sweater and the cans and making a dash for it.

One of them gave him chase into the streets and smirked when he spotted a brown thatch of spiked hair blending in with the crowd. The man inched closer till he was walking right behind his target. He jabbed his foot between his feet, tripping him over. His victim fell but when the Templar turned him around, he realized his mistake.

It was not Shaun Hastings. The henchman cursed and ran into a four lane junction. The historian had made good his escape.

One of the men who walked past the Templar was still holding the currency notes a strange, bloodied British national had pressed into his hands in exchange for his black jacket.

Shaun blinked away the blackness in his vision as he boarded a bus. His self-preservation had kicked in before panic. He was dabbing the blood off his face, bending over in caution to avoid being spotted.

* * *

Rebecca had taken Desmond's place for the demonstration.

"Pay attention," said Lucy. "Chest, stomach and neck. It's a triple threat."

Then, with a quick succession of moves, she struck Rebecca on the chest. She doubled slightly over and got a knee in the stomach from Lucy. A fiery chop to the back of the neck had her on the floor.

"Brutal," Desmond muttered.

Rebecca sat up on her knees. "It's okay. I've been in worse. Either way, Lucy hit me with speed, not with force."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not really."

There was that grating sound of the elevator again. "That's gotta be Shaun," said Lucy. "You guys continue. I'll help him with all the stuff."

From afar, she saw his bent frame stooping against a railing. He was dry-gagging and clutching his ribs.

"Shit, what happened?"

"I need… help."

"Rebecca!"

"Don't call her! Take me to my room."

Lucy readily complied. He was heavy against her. As she helped onto his bed, she had a nagging suspicion about what may have happened. And she had a very bad feeling about what was to follow.

* * *

**Author's note: **Okay, this was a very hurriedly written chapter. College has opened in full throttle and we'll be overloaded with work very soon. This has just been put up to pull the story forward. I know I could've done this chapter better. But time's scarce on my side too. :)

I will love you if you review, so _please _do. It really gets me going!

Much love to shadowelf144, P-Jiggitty, Chystis, mythstoorfoot (yes, Lucy-Rebecca convo is inspired from the email. :D) and A Beautiful Oblivion (you're awesome for being so patient with my queries) for their reviews! :D


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